


Stormy Weather

by kintou



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Oneshot, jeanmarco oneshot, marcojean oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 05:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12426249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kintou/pseuds/kintou
Summary: On a stormy day Jean gets lost and ends up walking into the atelier of Marco Bodt. Marco, afraid that Jean will get sick, offers him some warm clothes and coffee.





	Stormy Weather

 

I was not going to get angry over something like this. I had promised myself I was a changed man. Not that that helped the situation. I could try to start my phone as much as I wanted to but it wouldn’t light.. Nor would the rain stop when I imagined sun. There was nothing to than just.. try for once. So, while staring at the rain outside of the station, I decided that I’d just have to brace it.

With rain ruining my styled hair I walked up to the first person I saw. “Excuse me? I need to find the Patterson street, do you know where it might be?”

The person stopped in their tracks. Their umbrella kept them from getting wet. “Excuse me?” They had earphones in. I cursed myself for not noticing. For standing still in the pouring rain.

“Do you know where Patterson street is?”

“Ah, uh.. Patterson street. I think you just have to walk straight, then when you get at a crossing point you go straight again, and then it’s somewhere near a bridge.”

I repeated the words in my mind. Shivered. The jacket I was wearing wasn’t going to keep me dry for a long time. “So just straight?”

“Yeah, just straight.” The person started walking again. “Good luck!” or something like that, they yelled. I don’t know. The sound of the rain muffled all the voices around me. Most of the people I saw were hiding in front of doors, or running to the nearest bus. I didn’t know what bus to get. Didn’t have a door I dared to hide in front of.

I fucked up.

It was one of the first days of my dream school and I had fucked up. I had said that my bus would arrive five minutes later, that I had missed the first bus. I hadn’t expected five minutes to make much of a difference. Turns out I was wrong, they had left without me. Someone had texted me the street I needed to go to while I was in the bus and that was it. I had the name of the street. Without a phone I couldn’t navigate, without an umbrella I would get sick.   
But I had changed. I wanted to do fine arts. I had been accepted in the school and now I wanted to know every fucking thing they wanted to tell me. Even if that was in a neighborhood I had never been in before, meeting at a place where I’d eventually stand alone.

The way was long. My shoes were getting so wet that my toes had a small swimming pool inside of it. Heavy with every step. My hair was sticking to my forehead. I ruffled it a few times.

Go Straight.

The bus stops were busy with people hiding from the rain. Like penguins they were sticking together, just hoping they would get home.

The crossing point coming in sight felt like a good breath. A spark of hope. I went straight, looked to see if I could find the bridge.

I walked for about 45 minutes. I looked at every bus stop, every street name and every person with an umbrella. My hands were clenched in my pockets, and I was pretty sure that my nose was dripping disgustingly. There had been no bridge.

It took my that much to walk up to another person. “Excuse me, miss?”

“Good afternoon, young man.” She automatically put her umbrella closer to me, so that I was standing dry too. That was sweet, but it felt awful. Only now that I was dry I realised how drenched I had gotten.  

I tried to smile and actually managed for once. “Is it right that I’ll find the Patterson street if I keep going straight?”

“Patterson.. Oh! No you need to go to the left. Just head left now! It’s quite far, though.”

I sighed. The first person had told me the wrong way. “That- That’s alright.”

It wasn’t, but there was no going back now that I had chosen to go. My heart was beating loudly, though. It could have been the anger. Could have been the cold.

And so I headed left, for a long time. I walked left for half an hour until there was a bridge that came into sight, and there it was. The nameplate saying ‘Patterson street’. And of course I thought; I’ve found it now. And of course, on a day like this, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Not knowing where everyone was (except from the fact that it was in this street)  I started walking through the street. I looked at every art-like shop, walked in and asked: “Is there a class of art student here?” and every single person said no. None of them had seen a class. They were sorry. I walked out again.

The street was long, I walked for twenty minutes in just that street, without finding anybody. With every shop I saw I got a little bit of hope, hope that would be crushed again once I was inside. I was wet, cold, probably red and hungry. When I saw the next place, an atelier, I almost didn’t walk in. I didn’t want to hope again, yet I didn’t want to miss any artshop it could be.  The bell rang. There was a nice coffee corner where people could sit. The paintings were very warm paintings. Made the autumn day seem, almost, beautiful. That was quite something with everything I had gone through. I wondered if it was alright that I had just walked in. The place seemed like more of a working place. There were a few paintings that were for sale, though.

The more I took the place in, the more I realised that my class would not be there.

“Good afternoon!” A man came walking in from the back of the atelier. He had a big grin on his face. There were freckled all over his face, and brown paint spatters all over his cream coloured blouse. He was a bit taller than I was, but (even though he had his own atelier) he couldn’t have been much older than I.  “Oh, you’re completely wet!”

“Have you seen some art students?”

He smiled softly. “No, I haven’t.  I’m sorry.”

“Alright. Thanks. I’ll leave the-”

“Wait,” He walked closer to me. He was wearing sweatpants, still he looked classy. The freckles on his face made him look bright. “Can I do something to help you?”

“Oh..” Yeah oh. He had been the first dry person to ask me that. I hadn’t expected him to. “Uh, do you have an android charger?”

“Yeah I do.” He walked to the cabinet and started looking through it. “Please take off your jacket. You’ll have to wait anyway.”

I did as he told me, though my shirt was just as drowned.

He handed me the charger and then he walked to the back again. When he came back he was holding a towel, a sweater and sweatpants. “There’s paint on the towel, I hope that’s okay.”

“I can’t take the clothes. It’s too fucking much.”

He smiled. “They’re old. It’s fine.”

I took the towel and dried my hair. “Thanks.”  

He stared at me, interested in what I was doing. I felt like he was studying my every move.  “You’re in the art academy?”

“Yeah.”

“I used to go there too.”

He looked like it. His art was beautiful. You could see he was not an inexperienced painter. Actually, you could see it by just looking at his body; confidence was written all over his body. To top it off, he was god damn nice.

“That’s cool.”

“Do you like it?”

He pushed the clothes into my hands when I handed him the towel back. I accepted it this time, just so that the conversation wouldn’t stop. He was, already, the kind of person you could never get enough of.

“I like it, just not today.”

He grinned. “I feel you. These kind of days are my favourite work days, but that’s just because I can stay inside all day.”

“Yeah? You like rainy days.”

“Oh yeah, I’m all for autumn.” He grinned. “Love everything about it.”

“Believe me, you wouldn’t love it if you’re class left without you and you’d have to walk for almost two hours.”

“You’ve been walking for that long?” I nodded. “Put those clothes on, man. You’re going to get so sick.”

I don’t know why, but I didn’t want to fight him anymore. Maybe it was because he was so goddamn comfortable to be around. Maybe it was because I sure as hell hated to stand in these wet clothes. Maybe it was because I just kind of gave up the moment he had smiled at me like that.

I walked to the toilet, put on the sweatpants and sweater and placed my wet clothes on the heater. The first thing he said when I came back in was: “I got you some coffee. Your face hinted that you wanted it black.”  

“Ah holyfuck, yes.”

He laughed. “I’m glad.” He sat in the coffee corner and waited for me to sit down in front of him. I did. “I never asked your name.”

“My name is Jean.”

“Jean..  My name is Marco, Marco Bodt.” I don’t know why but knowing his name made me feel happy. I was at home. And fuck, fuck, I didn’t even want to see the rest of the fucking class anymore. I didn’t care about any exposition or artists. “Are you warm enough?”

“Yeah I am.”

“So you had a shit day hm?”

I sighed as loud as I could. “Ugh yes.”

“I don’t know where any school would go in this neighborhood, actually. The school is quite far away and there’s no big museum.” He put his chin on his hand and stared at me.

“I don’t really give a fuck anymore.” I moaned. He grinned. I had noticed he grinned when I cussed. “I’m done. I’ve really tried. It’s fine.”

He moved his hand to his neck and carefully stretched it. When he did he had a nice strong jaw, though his face had something bubbly. He had a few lost freckles in his neck. “Smart move.”

We chatted for a bit. Don’t ask me about what exactly, because we talked about everything and a lot of nothing. We talked about his art, we talked about how he loved autumn, we talked about how I thought any weather was awful (that made him laugh), we talked about our ages (he was one year older), and why I had gone to school this late in my life. I struggled the last topic off, kind off. Tried to give as little as possible away. He noticed. He understood. With the same smile as before he changed the topic to something that came as easy as night and day.

Somewhere he started working again. He said that I had to stay. Apparently I completed his art mood. He asked if he could draw me. I told him that he could if he gave me some paper and a pencil. And like that we sat in his atelier, drawing. I was drawing his hands, he was painting my upper half. In his painting I was drenched by the rain, he worked with warm colours.

Sometimes some people (or customers) walked in. Most just looked around, or bought a small card. They had a chat with both of us, because they thought that the art was from both of us (of course). Someone bought a rather small painting as a birthday present. Marco was thankful to everyone who was willing to look at his work. He laughed brightly when someone complimented him. He bowed slightly when giving someone the painting they had bought.

He was beautiful.

In his painting I looked sad, but my eyes were wide. I wondered if that was what I had really looked like that. Like a drowned cat. Hopeless. Waiting to be picked up.

He made the painting more expressionistic, like most of his paintings. He made them the weather, he made them the mood, the emotions I had had. I didn’t dare to compliment him, so I just tried to make my drawing, his hands, as beautiful as possible. I spend as long as I could on the small paint splash on his hand. I paid close mind to the way it covered some of his freckles.

I forgot where I should have been.

The rest of my day was now gone. It didn‘t matter anymore. The only thing left of my day was the way my nose kept running, and wet strands in my hair. The way I sneezed from time to time, and the way Marco said “Bless you.” or “I’m glad you stayed here.” when I did.

When it was around seven o’clock (I had said nothing about the sky turning dark) he stretched, yawned and grinned at the same time. Then he looked at me.  He looked at me like he was proud. Proud of the clothes I was wearing and of who I was drawing. “You’re like an insane source of inspiration, man.”

I looked up. Stared at him. “Looks who says that.”

“So..” I wondered if he was going to ask me to leave. Go home to his girlfriend and eat the nice dinner she had made. Maybe she would ask him why he was late and he’d say ‘someone drew with me today.’ and that would be it. Anxiety was running through me. I told myself to stop. I was not the weak person I had been before. I wasn’t easily angered or anxious. My mental issues were history. I was not afraid- “What do you want for dinner?”

My heart stopped.

Started running again.

“Oh, I can.. If you want me to leave that’s good too. You, I don’t fucking know, you should probably be somewhere.”

“No!” We both looked up, surprised. He had surprised himself. “I don’t have to be anywhere.” He grinned and sat down next to me. “Honestly, I eat alone every day. My parents live in a different village, not too far away, and I don’t have a lover.”

“Oh..”

He stood up again. “No worries.”

“Alright.” I stood up too.

“Shall I make pumpkin soup?”

I smiled. “How fucking autumn can you get?”

He bumped against me playfully. It was weird to have him that close. “Trust me, I can get even more autumn than this.”

“Very intimidating.”

“I know.”

 

We talked during dinner. He had made the best (and only) pumpkin soup I had ever eaten. He said that I looked like I was really enjoying it. I said that I was, and that I had been living on takeout and campus food.

That was enough reason for him to ask me over again, to give me his phone number. It felt good when I put him in my phone. ‘Marco Bodt.’ The name fluttered through my mind without any control. Like shivers when it’s cold. The the autumn leaves when it stormed.   
He put on jazz, that evening, and I fell in love with the way he didn’t notice that he moved to it. That, with every step he took, it seemed like he was dancing. That I, for the first time in forever, felt like I was dancing through life as well.

Leaving was hard; but it was something I had to do. Everytime I said I had to go though, Marco took a second to say ‘yeah, yeah you should’ and eventually, we’d start talking again and we’d forget the time again. Like this, with endless soft conversation, I had to get the last bus.

He walked me to the station with an umbrella. I would never have to get lost or soaked in this place again because could always call him, he said. I told him that this morning I had never thought I’d want to come back to this neighborhood and the shit morning it had brought me.

He laughed.

He made me promise that I’d come again, pointed at the bus that I had to drive home. Bus five. I thanked him. Wondered if I could hug him goodbye, shake his hand, just wave a little. How do you say goodbye to someone you don’t know that well but really want to hold? He was someone I’d want to be close to.

“Jean!”  I snapped out of it. “Your bus is leaving, quickly.”

Like that, I said no goodbye. I just turned around and started running. Kept running even when the bus drove off. Stopped running and stared at the bus. At the bus driver who must have seen me running but didn’t stop.

“Fuck. Fucking asshole!”

Marco came running after me. “Jean..”

“What a fucking dick. He fucking saw me running.”

“It’s no big deal. It’s alright.”

I cracked my neck too roughly (something I often do when frustrated.) “Don’t want to.. I don’t know, bother you anymore than I have.”

Marco put his hands on both of my cheeks. “You are not a bother. I like having you around and besides.. You can’t help that these busses stop driving so early.” I smiled, getting my cheeks smudged and thick. “So ugly.”

“Fuck you.”

With me, once again, wet from the rain we walked back to Marco’s apartment above his atelier. Our arms touched each other and out hips sometimes hit too. The rain made music around us and Marco seemed to do anything but stress about the fact I couldn’t get home. More than anything, he seemed delighted. I didn’t ask about.

“Got college tomorrow?”

“I start around two.”

Marco nodded while his arm pushed against mine a little more. If he did not we would be walking in the rain. I knew that. It just felt a little too special to blame it on something like that.

 

Marco put down a mug of choco coffee in front of me, he sat down on the floor with his. He stared at me in silence for a bit. His eyes were confident and they held my embarrassment. In the background there was some lofi music playing. Marco had a warm room. A lot of old stuff.

“You buy your stuff at the thrift shop?” He smiled. Stared at the wooden table with our shoes under it and some old books on top of it. I stretched my toes, the socks with cactuses that marco had let me borrow, covering them.  
“I don’t really see the point of buying new things. I like things with some history and besides.. It’s cheaper.”

I held up the mug I was holding and stared at it. “I guess.”

“That one was twenty cents.”

I laughed. “I like it.”

“Are you cold?”

“A little. It’s alright.”

But Marco stood up and walked into the other room. When he came back he was holding big blankets and extra pillows. He grinned brightly. His cheeks red, from happiness, not from embarrassment. He threw the blanket on top of me and the pillow next to me. Then he stopped in his track. “Would you mind if I sat next to you?”

The rain hit the window loudly. You could head the wind howling through the streets. The day sounded like autumn, the the winter is often a peaceful silence. “Of course I don’t.. I’d actually like that.”

I know what I meant with that. I meant that I would not mind being held by someone like him, but I hadn’t expected him to read what I meant in what I said. Still when he climbed under the sheets, he draped his legs over mine and he made sure that our hands touched very subtile.

I kept quite. He picked up his mug awkwardly from that position, but once he had it in both hands he grinned brightly.

I don’t know what came over me but I didn’t look away. I stared at him, and I was aware of his skin touching mine softly, without panic. For one of the first times in a while I managed to relax and to do what I felt like without fear. Even though the situation was so new. That’s scary. But it wasn’t. I don’t know.

“How do you feel, Jean?”

“Actually, I’m alright.. I’m feel pretty good.”

Marco moved a little closer. “You say that like it’s a surprise.”

I smirked. “I guess it is.”

“I’m glad.” He pulled the blankets further to his face and cuddled them closer. He drank his choco coffee and put the mug on the floor. “I mean- not that that’s rare, just that you’re feeling good now.”

“I gathered that.”

He smiled at me and took my hand with his warm one. His fingers traveled through mine for a bit. He studied how thin my fingers were, and then we fell into silence. He was smiling at it all. I looked at our hands.

“Hey Jean-” he broke the silence, he had a grin on his face. “Feel my feet, they’re so cold.” He pushed his feet against my belly, making me scream and pull back a little. “Fuck off.”I laughed and pushed him over. He laughed loudly with my hands on his collarbones to keep him down.

“Oh no, what will you do to me?” he mumbled sarcastically.

“Revenge of the cactus socks.”I dropped myself off him and rubbed my feet over his. Warmed him up kindly. He kept grinning but his body became calm. The moves he did make were slow.

A wave of panic came through me. His warmth under me and my feet against his. I realized how weird it must have felt for him. That he was becoming so calm because he didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t know me.  “I’m sorry. Marco, I-”

Marco slowly moved slowly to put his arms around me. He tightly hugged me, pushed his face into my neck and breath out strongly and softly. “Warmth..” he whispered happily.

He changed the subject.

He saw my panic and changed the subject.

“Yeah..”

“It’s okay, you know.”

“What?”

His hand moved up to my hair slowly and then he softly caressed my head and tangled his finger in my hair. “Okay to panic, to be scared, to be whatever you are. To have whatever problems you have. To have all of that and still enjoy this.”

I fell into silence and let go of him. I thought of a good reply and became incapable of thinking of one. “You haven’t seen it get bad.”

“I might.. It won’t change a thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“If it’s okay to see you again. If it’s okay for me to love you or- well- if that happens, I’m the type of person who isn’t scared away by those things. I guess that’s what I wanted you to know.”

“That I could be anxious without you thinking differently of me?”

Marco pushed his face against my neck again. “Yeah.. sorry if that bothers you.”

I didn’t answer him. My eyes wandered over his face, stared into his eyes, followed his freckles. Then I let one of my hands caress his back.

I got used to him.

Waited for myself to catch up.

Thought about what I wanted.

“You don’t know me.” I mumbled, eventually.

He smiled. “I know.”

Then I let my hand slide up to his hair so that I could pull his face towards me. He followed me right away. As soon as he noticed I wanted to bring our lips together he moved with me. Pushed his lips against mine roughly. He let his hand lie on my cheek. His fingertips brushing my ear and hairline. His other hand held my sweatpants covered hip. He had a good hold of me. He felt so goddamn safe.

“Thank you.” I whispered, as soon as we pulled away. He didn’t ask what I was thanking him for. I guess he just knew.

For a while, we just lied on top of each other in silence. Marco allowed himself to play with my fingers, or my hair, and I felt good just trying to follow what he was doing. He seemed to think about every touch he gave me, and the only reason he could have for that was to make me feel good.

And I did.

I concentrated on how his fingers danced around mine. Then I closed my eyes, and focussed on his slow breathing. After a while it stopped being frustrating that I couldn’t breath as slow as he could, and I became calm.

 

When I woke up I was lying on his chest. His hand was on my belly and his face was lying against the top of my head. The window was open and a street light was shining through. Despite of the bright light I could see a lot of stars. The rain had stopped falling, but the wind was still slamming against the windows. Marco’s breath was still calming. He had fallen asleep with a smile on his face.

 

Waking up alone was scary. I panicked. When I noticed the couch I was lying on, the light coming through the window and the warmth that was still here (but was obviously not mine), I panicked. That was until I heard someone singing in the kitchen. There was some jazz playing and a warm voice following it. I listened carefully. He was probably playing some classics. Best of jazz of some shit like that.

Don’t ask me why, I couldn’t answer you, but that washed away my fear.

And then the voice came closer, turned into humming, turned into a sweet voice. “Hey, you’re awake.”

“Yeah.”

He grinned brightly, “I made some omelets, you want?”

“Do you have coffee?”

“Warm and well.”

He took my hand as I stood up, trying to keep my tired ass steady. Cold hit me as I left the blanket behind. Marco had opened the window widely. “Take the comforter.”

I wrapped the comforter around me and walked with him towards the kitchen. Marco was wearing a thick red sweater. He lead me towards his kitchen, put two dorky second hand mugs in front of me and filled them with coffee.

“Thanks, Marco.”

He sat down next to me at the table and let his feet travel over my legs with soft smile. “Did you sleep well?”

I felt his eyes travel over my bedhead. “Yeah.”

“I really enjoyed yesterday.. I slept so good.”

“Yeah, I woke up at night and you were sleeping with your mouth wide open.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and you were snoring so loud that the neighbors must have heard it. I couldn’t sleep after that, at all.”

“Really?”

“No.”  He smiled. “You were sleeping so cute and comfortable that I couldn’t do anything but the same.”

He laughed softly. Then we ate our egg and had a slow conversation. He told me about the ideas he had for the portrait he did off me, he told me about his parents and that he would go see them in a few days. I told him a little about my family. That I would avoid seeing them for as long as I could.

We sat a little closer. He held my hand, touched my cheeks while I talked, caressed my neck, held my eyes with his.

We talked about how I would come back. He made me promise, because I am the kind of person to stay away forever. We got lost naming things we wanted to eat together; lasagna, bobotie, wraps, more pumpkin soup, some soup is mother always made. He told me about a coffee shop he’d have to take me to, I told him about a small museum I’d would take him.

We became a little closer, with smiles on our faces and our voices getting a little louder with every recipe.

We became closer and while we were feeling that happy. Like that we pushed our noses against each other again, with a grin on our faces. And when we kissed, when we kissed it was light and happy. This time it was nothing deep. It was just because we had become that close. Maybe (but that could have been just for me) it was to seal the promise; we’d see each other again.  

“I’m kind of glad the storm took you here.”

His nose was pressed against mine. “You make it sound like I’m an old pieces of wood.”

“Wood can be very beautiful.”

“Shut up.”

He grinned brightly, his hand on my cheek and his nose pushed against mine. “Come again tonight.”

“O-okay. That could be.. Pretty nice”

 

 

And so that evening I took the bus to his house, even with a nagging deadline. And when he saw me he smiled so bright that I almost believed he had waited for me all day. And when I told him about the deadline, he let me work in his atelier, and he sat next to me working quietly. He drew me, again. I found it scary that everyone who came into his atelier could see that he had met me but at the same time. I was pretty glad.

Marco worked on the painting of the drowned me; it was really becoming something. I honestly told him that I had thought about him all day, that was quite something too. At that he grinned brightly and came closer to hug me. He took my face with his painted fingers and got paint on my face. Then he pushed his lips on mine.

“Marco..” I whispered when we had pulled back. I looked away from him. Afraid of his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

I looked at him again. “I- this is stupid as fuck- like fucking stupid but.. Your kiss is hurting my heart, in a fucking good way, and I don’t think I can do this if it’s.. like a one night stand or shit. I think I need to know if you’re serious because, well, I’m fucking stupid if you’re not.”  

Marco put his hand on my paint covered face again. He stared at me, not allowing me to look away. “You want me to say it’s special?” He put his forehead against mine.

I pulled back again. “Only if it’s true.”

“I feel special. I feel like I want to see you everyday. But I must admit I don’t know how to prove it. I don’t want to keep you anxious. I- well- I’ve been in love one time. There were some one night stands and I couldn’t deal with those. Believe me, this is definitely not one of those. I guess I can honestly say that I’m not a one night stand man. I fall, I fall had, but I also fall carefull. I want to wake up to you,  talk a lot,  bring you coffee and- sorry for being blunt- I really want to have sex with you.” Me too. Me too. Fuck me too. And thank you. And god you’re beautiful. And I came back to him. I don’t know how but he had said the exact right thing. He couldn’t have said more to keep me calm. Maybe it were his eyes, his posture and his eyes made you want to believe him. He was trustworthy. So on that floor I came closer to him and snuggled my nose against his and whispered. “You’d make me coffee hm? I guess that proves it.”

He grinned brightly, pushed me over and pushed his lips on mine. He kissed my mouth, then my neck and my ear. “How’s the deadline coming along?”He asked with his mouth in my neck, as if I’d answer him honestly when he did that.

“Pretty good I.. have some time.” He smiled into my neck and let his teeth slide over it softly. Then he licked the side of my ear.I held his hair, his face softly to mine. He put his hand on my hip. His hard on was, inside of his pants, still pushing against mine.

“You want to move it upstairs?”

I looked at all the windows around us, those which I had forgotten, and nodded slowly. We walked slowly and carefully. Marco held my hand. He kissed me on the stairs, and once we were upstairs he pushed me against a door and kissed me roughly. I smiled into it. “My room’s that way.” he pointed to the left. I just followed him.

“Jean, top or bottom?”

“Whichever.” I whispered.

“Alright.” He whispered even softer, taking me in carefully. His hands then in my hair again. Softly he pushed me down on the bed and kissed me again. When he pulled away I took of my shirt and he did the same. He had a healthy body. A strong body. Compared to him I was pale and small. He had a beautiful tan with freckles sprinkled on top.

“You’re beautiful.” Marco whispered to me. He let his finger slide against my nipple. Then he softly licked it, and up until he was in my neck again.

He pulled back and took out his and my pants. I stared at the thickness under his underwear. He pulled his dick one time, then he went to kiss my nipple again, down to my hip which he bit, and then to my dick. At first he put his mouth on my underwear and kissed it. I moaned, pushing my eyes closed. He pulled down my underwear slowly. Left in in the middle of my legs, and put his mouth on my dick. His tongue first licked from my balls to the tip, then he licked the tip a few times. He made my dick wet his his savilla and then he pushed his lips against the top. At first he sucked just that, leaving panting, and then he pushed my entire cock in his mouth. Slowly and carefully, at first, and then he sucked me hard and good. He looked at me a few times. His eyes were glossy. Sometimes he’d pull back to just lick slowly, with his eyes closed as if he was enjoying himself insanely. I tried to look away but my eyes would travel back to his mouth on me.

And then he pulled back. I stared at him.

“Would you lift your hips for me?”

He got a bottle of lube from his nightstand and then he helped me lift my legs. He let one finger come inside of me. He stared into my eyes, which I almost couldn’t handle. Then he pushed in his other fingers carefully and fingered me fucking good. He pushed back my legs so he could me closer to me. Then when he was done he kissed my softly.

“Can I?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re beautiful.”

He pushed his dick against me. Then, very slowly and carefully he pushed into me. His face was covered with nothing but pleasure. You could see that holding back, doing it slow, was getting hard. “Are you alright?” he whispered.

“Yeah, just fuck me already.”

I don’t know what came over me, but he didn’t have to be told twice. He pushed in his penis completely. He kissed my leg that was on his shoulder and stared at me as he started moving. I closed my eyes and searched for a pillow to bite and moan into. He didn’t let me. He pushed his hand on my mouth. Shivers went through my body. I loved that. I pushed my teeth into his hand and moaned loudly. “Let me hear you.” he whispered.

He pushed into me slowly but hard. His other hand traveled over my hips and ass.He moaned softly and beautifully. He looked at me a lot.

“Will you turn around for me?”

“Fuck- yeah..”

I got on my knees and pushed my ass up. I felt good, knowing that he could do anything to me. He was the kind of man that made you feel safe when in charge. I felt safe. I knew he would care, that he would make me feel good.  

“Ah- you fucking- beautiful.” he whispered.

He held my hips and pushed himself back inside of me. He screamed it out. “Sorr-”

“Again.. Please fuck me.” and like that he held my hips and pulled them towards him. He pushed his dick inside of me roughly. He moaned loudly too. I screamed. He leaned over my body so that I could feel his chest against my back. I could feel his bigger body over mine. He reached out and pulled my hair back, pushed himself inside of me at the same time. “Marco!”

I screamed his name, again and again and again, and that was scary to me because I had never felt the need to scream names because I knew I’d always forget the name the next day. The name wouldn’t matter. But this was Marco. This was that security and warmth and heavy gaze. That gaze was now on my back, on my ass, on the way I pulled back my head and lowered my back for him. I wished for him to know I was doing this for him. When I pushed my ass up more I wanted him to know it was to make him feel good. To prove that he could fuck me as much as he wanted to.

“Jean.” He whispered. Very slowly. Then he pushed into me shockingly and harder than the other times. He became bigger and let his nails dig into my back. He moaned softly, then he let his body fall on to of my back for a second. “You’re amazing.” he whispered exhausted.

We laid on that bed together for a while. I stared at the way he breath heavily. The way his chest moved up and down. He had his hand on my head and caressed my hair softly. He had a small smile on his face, but his eyes were closed.  We didn’t talk.

Somewhere, while we were lying there, rain started ticking against the window. It fell down fast and hard, like a storm. Marco opened his eyes and stared at me. I smiled at him and then we kissed very softly, though it was the heaviest kiss we had had. With our foreheads against each other we fell asleep. We fell in love.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> I hope you enjoyed this. I'm very glad that people are still reading coffeeshop/artist au's.  
> If you like coffeeshop au's you can check out some of my other work (they're all coffeeshop or artist au's)  
> Like http://archiveofourown.org/works/6236461 (flower&coffeeshop) or http://archiveofourown.org/works/5073319 (artists).
> 
> Thank you very much!  
> Please do comment if you liked it.


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